


A Game of Pool

by call_for_help



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant?, Gen, Jacob and dramatic lighting - name a more iconic duo, Jacob's POV, Walt Longmire & The Truth, Walt Longmire Roast Club, and the election, but not necessarily in 4x02, discussions of Branch, newly completed casino, set between 4x01 and 4x03, wait wait I've got it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_for_help/pseuds/call_for_help
Summary: “You play?” Jacob offers, gesturing to the table. Walt stands there still looking stern for a moment, then motions with his hand as if to say “set it up,” evidently not in an arrest-first-ask-questions-later kind of mood.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	A Game of Pool

Taking advantage of the quiet now that the construction crew has gone home for the day, Jacob walks around the dark casino floor, the machines and tables finally in place, finally starting to feel real. In just over a month, the hotel will be complete and the Four Arrows Casino will be ready to welcome in those members of the public who would rather seek their fortunes than make them. Jacob admits it is a rather harsh characterization, but he decided long ago that he would not rely on chance.

He walks among his creation, and thinks of his earliest battles, of sinking all his youthful enthusiasm into the fight for change and getting inches in return. Of watching the cycles of poverty and alcohol and abuse until his head spun. Of getting out, putting himself on a longer path for change, 31,000 square feet of it. Of coming home.

Indulging in a rare reflective moment, Jacob paces in his customary black slacks and tailored dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jacket and tie lie abandoned in his new office, having fulfilled their role for the day. His well-practiced disguise has taken its toll over the years, but he manages to retain his motives and tireless ambition without inadvertently becoming that which he imitates so perfectly.

Now here he stands in _his_ casino, after decades of struggle and endless ass-kissing of white investors. Now he is beginning to get where he always wanted to be, well positioned within the system he failed to change. Of course there will still be obstacles, but Jacob knows the threats and is ready for them, determined that nothing will stop his growing momentum.

He breathes in the smells of new construction, the fresh paint and recently installed carpet. He walks down an aisle of, for the moment, quietly resting slot machines, then wanders back towards the bar and finds himself admiring a billiards table. Lit by a spotlight above, it gives off an ominous green glow in the otherwise dark space. He runs his fingers across the new felt, the results of his efforts finally tangible.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear a door open but looks up to find Walt Longmire strolling towards him, his cowboy hat and all denim uniform looking strangely out of place. Jacob runs through the possible reasons for his visit: interrogation, seeking revenge for his recent “display,” as Walt had put it. In either case, or the third option of the unexpected, he is not about to let Walt ruin his day. Not this time. “Good evening, Sheriff. I see you let yourself in.”

“Well the door was open, so.” Jacob can’t help but smirk, for once finding the sheriff’s complete disregard for private property and jurisdiction more amusing than infuriating.

“I had an interesting conversation with Barlow Connally today,” Walt begins.

“Oh?” Jacob asks, feigning interest in a conversation he expects he will soon tire of.

“He gave me another reason you might’ve wanted Branch dead.”

Annoyance threatens at the edges of his good mood. “And what might that be?” he asks tersely.

“He said he had reason to believe you threw the election for Branch. Now, I find that strange. You publicly endorsed Branch, you donated money to his campaign. Not to mention, if he’d’ve won the election, you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, so,” Walt shrugs.

“What makes Barlow think I had any influence over the outcome of the election?” he asks, resenting Walt’s habit of lobbing unsubstantiated accusations as if he expected Jacob to outright confess once he landed on the truth.

“He was over at the retirement home on election day, needed Lucian to sign some papers or something.” Walt raises an accusatory finger to punctuate his point. “He saw _your_ bus with Branch’s name plastered on the side dropping residents off after voting. Last I talked to my campaign manager, older voters are more likely to go with the tried and true than a youngster with new ideas. I’m sure you know that as well.”

Jacob keeps his face neutral as he processes his relief. Walt doesn’t have anything truly convincing to back this claim, nor the one that he had something to do with Branch’s death. He must not have found a certain set of incriminating burial site maps that Jacob could not afford to have sitting in the hands of one of the most powerful men in the county. If Branch had won the election, he could have made Jacob’s life just as difficult as he pleased with that kind of reputation destroying leverage. At the thought that this evidence is now likely gone forever, his calm confidence is quick to return.

“You play?” Jacob offers, gesturing to the table. Walt stands there still looking stern for a moment, then motions with his hand as if to say “set it up,” evidently not in an arrest-first-ask-questions-later kind of mood. Jacob arranges the balls into a triangle, rolling the whole thing back and forth a few times to settle them. He picks up two cue sticks and silently passes one to Walt before walking to the other end of the table to break. He leans over, the harsh light reflecting off the watch and ring on his left hand as his right hand draws the back of the cue into the shadows. A decisive clack breaks the silence and sets the game in motion. The balls scatter, with three stripes and one solid finding their final resting places out of the scrutiny of the spotlight.

“Lucky break,” comments Walt. A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of Jacob’s mouth as he wonders how long Walt will believe luck has anything to do with it.

“So tell me Sheriff,” he begins, repositioning himself to set up an easy shot, “if my ‘ploy’ to keep Branch from getting elected was successful, why would I still have an interest in killing him?” Another stripe is retired with a clack and a thump.

“Maybe he had something on you,” Walt speculates. “I know you were one of his ‘confidential’ sources. Maybe in all your dealings you let something slip.”

Jacob huffs out a bitter laugh. “If Branch ever had anything on me you would’ve known about it. The man was too _loyal_ for his own good,” he assures Walt, the disdain in his voice not giving away his relief that his statement is only half true. He is across the table from Walt now, lining up a shot. “He didn’t have the stomach for politics.” _Clack. Thump._

“Not like you?” Walt asks, with the trace of an ironic smile.

Jacob purses his lips, ever present intensity in his eyes as he speaks methodically, “I gave Branch some advice once. Forget the past. Look to the future.” He moves around a corner, setting up a tricky bank shot. “I might give you the same advice.” He draws his arm back, and retires another ball.

“I didn’t come here for advice, Jacob. I’m just looking for the truth.”

Jacob takes his focus off the table to glare at Walt. Knowing the futility of arguing with him about one of his baseless theories, he decides to make his own point. “The truth, Walt, is I don’t really _care_ about your petty local politics, how you harass me at every turn, or how much you want to see me fail,” Jacob says, his voice bitter and self-righteous, but not angry. “Every day, I choose to forget because that is the only way forward. And you might have to reconsider this little vendetta of yours one of these days because this,” he gestures at the dark expanse around them as he strolls to the other end of the table and eyes the last striped ball, “this is just the beginning.” _Clack, thump._

Walt takes what he said in for a moment. His face reveals confusion that shifts to something akin to fear, perhaps seeing for the first time that Jacob aspires to things other than being a pain in his ass, and what he is willing to do to get them. Jacob watches the realization pass over Walt’s face, his satisfaction growing as the typically confident man’s self-assuredness falters. Walt looks over at him with his brows furrowed, betraying nothing but sincerity as he asks, “What is it that you really want?”

Jacob bends over one last time, gesturing with his cue to a corner pocket before sending the eight ball exactly where he wants it. He stands up to his full height and looks back at Walt with the certainty of two victories in his eyes. “Wyoming.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an A Martinez interview ([Link](https://www.aarp.org/entertainment/television/info-2017/martinez-longmire-interview.html)) where he was asked what Longmire scene he was most proud of. As far as I can tell, the described scene was tragically cut and is not available anywhere, so I channeled my intense disappointment into writing this. I hope it comes close to doing justice to what would surely have been a defining Jacob moment. 
> 
> Also of note, this interview took place in 2017, after season six. With the whole of canon to choose from, A singled out this scene that never made it to the show as his favorite. Just, let that sink in.


End file.
